


Am I Evil?

by DJ_unicornsrgr8



Series: Barry Fics [1]
Category: Barry (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:55:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25057321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJ_unicornsrgr8/pseuds/DJ_unicornsrgr8
Summary: An alternate version of Barry asking Hank if he's evil, set in a hotel room after Barry carries out a hit for Hank.
Relationships: Barry Berkman & NoHo Hank, Barry Berkman/NoHo Hank
Series: Barry Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814806
Comments: 15
Kudos: 53





	Am I Evil?

**Author's Note:**

> Please note the tags! There is self-harm in this fic, but there's no blood related to it. The blood in this fic isn't Barry's; it's from the hit mentioned in the summary.

“Am I evil?”

Hank furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

Barry lifted his head from the cradle of his hands, which were spotted with dried blood. Half his face was obscured by shadow in the dim motel lighting. His shoulders were drawn up, tight as a cord. As he met Hank’s gaze, he saw a flash of the face of his last kill and he flinched.

“Am I like… Am I like an… An evil person?”

Hank opened his mouth, then closed it again. Barry let his eyes fall to the stained carpet, his face twisting into something hard and loathing. 

“What? No!” Hank said quickly, but too late. “Of course you are not-”

“Shut up,” Barry snapped, dropping his head back into his hands. 

“Barry, you are, like, nicest guy I-”

“I said shut up!” 

Hank fell silent, his eyes wide and worried. The muscles in Barry’s neck twitched with tension and his fingers twisted in his disheveled hair.

“Barry?” Hank said, taking a step forward.

Barry jumped to his feet and scrambled backwards as if repelled, sending the rickety wooden motel chair flying. It hit the corner of the desk as it crashed to the ground, snapping one of the slats in the backrest. Barry stared at it, his shoulders rising and falling with his breathing.

“Okay, no worries, we can fix it. Just-”

“Fuck!” 

Barry turned on heel and strode to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind himself. There was a moment of silence, then a muffled shout and the sound of repeated smacking. Hank hurried past the broken chair to the bathroom door and tried the handle. It didn’t yield.

“Barry?” Hank called. 

There was no response; just the echo of open hands striking something hard.

“Barry, please open door!”

Hank tried the handle again -- nothing. 

“Barry, come on!”

No response. 

“Barry, you are worrying me, man! Open up!”

The door remained firmly shut. The sound of Barry hitting something grew slightly louder.

“Barry, I really do not want you to hurt yourself! Please let me in!”

Still nothing. Hank put some weight into the door to test it, and it creaked promisingly.

“Barry, if you do not open door, I will break in!”

The only sounds Hank could hear was harsh breathing and quick, vicious blows.

“Okay Barry, stand away from door!”

Hank stepped back, took a breath, and put all his weight into the door just above the handle with the heel of his boot. It buckled, swinging open and crashing against the discolored bathtub. Barry didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were screwed shut, and he was smacking the palms of his hands against his head with alarming force. His mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out. Hank inhaled sharply and rushed forward to grab Barry’s wrists. Barry went slack at the contact, his arms falling and his head lolling down as his rage drained from him. Hank kept a hold of his wrists, brushing circles against papery skin. 

“Hey,” whispered Hank, and Barry’s shoulders started to shake. “Hey.”

“I’m evil,” Barry choked out. 

“No, no,” Hank said, dropping Barry’s wrists and stepping forward to hug him. 

There was a loud knock on the outside door, and they both stiffened, inches away from each other.

“Go away!” Hank shouted. “Now is bad time!”

“The folks in the next room heard you breakin’ shit in there. Do I need to call the cops or are y’all done?”

“We are done!” Hank replied. “No more breaking shit!”

“And you know you’re payin’ for the damage!”

“Yes, we are not assholes!”

There was a loud guffaw. “Okay… No more breakin’ shit!”

“You already said that, Mr. Motel Man!”

Another snort, then receding footsteps. Hank huffed out a sigh before returning his attention to Barry, who was still frozen, head down, hands limp by his sides. His breaths were tight and shallow. Hank closed the gap between them and Barry’s back went rigid in his embrace.

“You are not evil,” Hank said. “You are good guy, Barry.”

“I’m not.”

“You saved my life, like, so many times. You care about your friends. You always protect them. You always want to do right thing. I mean, c’mon, man. You are good guy.”

Barry’s shoulders grew tighter.

“Maybe you have done some bad things. But that does not make you evil, Barry. You are trying to do good.”

“I’m failing.” The words came out small and shaky.

“Everybody fails sometimes. You just have to keep trying, man.”

Barry exhaled slowly, and with it, his muscles loosened. His hands trembled as he brought them up to Hank’s back, returning the hug. 

“See? You are okay. You are doing your best.”

Barry let out another shuddering breath. Hank patted his back softly before pulling away, his hands hovering near Barry’s wrists. Barry swayed without anything to lean on.

“Can I please take a peek at your face? You were hitting yourself very hard.”

Barry inclined his head, looking down at the cracked tile floor.

“Does that mean yes? Because I would really like to make sure you are okay.”

“Okay,” Barry said, his voice almost inaudible.

“Okay, good. Come, you can sit on bed and I will look at your face.”

Barry let Hank lead him out of the bathroom and past the broken chair to the bed, which groaned at his weight.

“This is horrible motel,” Hank muttered. “Bed is probably older than both of us together.”

Barry didn’t react, his head still lowered, his hands gripping his thighs. Hank seemed unfazed by the lack of response; he reached out and lifted Barry’s chin, illuminating his face.

“Ah. I hate to be harbinger of bad news, but you will definitely have bruises.” Hank brushed his fingers over Barry’s forehead, which was red and already purpling in some places. “We should get ice pack for it. Reduce swelling, less bruises, all that fun stuff. I will go ask Mr. Motel Man if he has one. You stay right there.”

Hank patted his knee before hurrying across the room and disappearing out the door. Barry gripped his thighs harder in attempt to ground himself. His sense of time felt wrong, almost as if it was looped, reverberating in his jumbled mind. His eyes came into focus on his hands, still bloody from the afternoon’s hit. His gun had jammed; he’d used a jackknife to finish the job. He’d hated it.

“...ening? Barry?”

Barry snapped his head up, feeling dizzy. Hank was back, holding a plastic bag of ice cubes. 

“Mr. Motel Man did not have ice pack, but he had ice cubes. Five dollars for small bag of ice. Ridiculous. Okay, you lie down and I will get towel for it.”

Barry laid back against the rough sheets. They smelled of mildew and mothballs. Hank returned with the makeshift ice pack wrapped in a fraying towel. He placed it gently on Barry’s forehead and sat down beside him, careful not to jostle him. Their eyes met for a moment before Barry looked away.

“I’m sorry, Barry,” Hank said. “I should not have asked you to do that hit.”

Barry’s face was expressionless.

“I’m sorry,” Hank repeated.

“Don’t be,” Barry said, his voice flat. “It’s all I’m good for.”

“That is not true!”

“Isn’t it, though?”

“Stop it. You are good at other things. Don’t make me start listing them.”

Barry was silent. Hank looked down at him and found his face twisted with desperation, with hope, with uncertainty.

“I will list them. You are good actor. You are good writer. You are good friend. You are good partner. You are-”

“I’m not,” Barry said, shaking his head, his eyes tightly closed. The bag of ice slid to one side, and Hank moved it back to the middle of his forehead.

“Stay still,” Hank murmured, sweeping his fingers through Barry’s unkempt hair. Barry’s eyes remained scrunched shut, moisture beginning to accumulate at the corners. The silence between them was stifling. Finally, Barry broke it with an agonized breath.

“Just… Don’t give up on me. Please.”

Hank smiled, relieved. “Of course not, buddy. I am here.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for this fandom, so hopefully I did an okay job with characterization. I'd really appreciate some feedback, if you don't mind leaving a comment! Any kudos and comments are much appreciated :) Also, I have three other short fics written for this fandom, so please let me know if you'd be interested in seeing them!
> 
> Notes about the fic:  
> 1\. Sorry if the POV is a bit confusing! I couldn't figure out what type of third person to make it.   
> 2\. Also, if you ever want to break down a door, do it like Hank and kick it with your heel right by the handle. Don't ram your shoulder into it! That'll just hurt your shoulder. I know this from experience, because I am smart and locked myself out a few weeks ago.


End file.
